


Less Death More Cure

by MorganaGreenleaf



Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Cranks (Maze Runner), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fix-It, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Newt (Maze Runner) Lives, Page 250, The Death Cure, newt isn't dead, page 250 fix-it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:34:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25988305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MorganaGreenleaf/pseuds/MorganaGreenleaf
Summary: Starting from the infamous page 250, a rewrite of the Death Cure, with less death and more cure.Newt lives <3
Relationships: Minho & Newt (Maze Runner), Minho & Thomas (Maze Runner), Newt & Sonya | Elizabeth "Lizzy" (Maze Runner), Newt & Thomas (Maze Runner), Teresa Agnes & Thomas (Maze Runner), Teresa Agnes/Sonya | Elizabeth "Lizzy" (Maze Runner), Teresa Agnes/Thomas (Maze Runner)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 18





	1. Chapter 1

With his heart falling into a dark abyss, Thomas pulled the trigger.

The dart hit Newt in the centre of his forehead, and he immediately went limp. Thomas discarded the gun, gently picked Newt up, carrying him bridal-style over to the van.

"Hurry up, you idiot!" yelled Lawrence, sticking his head out the window, "We don't have time for this!"

Thomas glared at him, and carefully placed Newt on the floor in the back of the van. He searched a small box for something to restrain him with, eventually coming across a pair of handcuffs. He pulled them out, and locked one side around Newt’s left wrist, carefully looped the chain through the grate on the van floor, and secured the other side around Newt’s right wrist. He heard the lock click, and his heart cracked in two.

His friend was lost.

“You done yet?” Lawrence asked.

Thomas shut the back of the van, and then climbed into the front seat. Lawrence quickly drove off, heading towards WICKED.

“Wait,” said Thomas, “Stop.”

Lawrence glanced at him. “We don’t have time for this, Thomas. We need to take down WICKED.”

“Newt will die if we do,” said Thomas.

“A small sacrifice for the greater good. WICKED must be stopped, no matter what the cost.”

Thomas punched him. He felt the bones in Lawrence’s nose crunch and break under his fist, and a small spurt of blood splattered over his hand.

Lawrence looked at him for a second, shocked, before lunging forwards, grabbing him by the throat, and slamming him against the window, while one foot pressed down hard on the brake.

“Listen to me, Thomas,” said Lawrence, softly, “This isn’t about you, or your little boyfriend Newt. This is about the destruction of WICKED. How many times do I need to tell you? So get your arse in line, and work with me. Or I’ll shoot him. Understand?”

Thomas nodded quickly, and Lawrence let him go. As the van sped up again, heading towards WICKED, Thomas massaged his neck, and glanced back at Newt, who was now coming to. Thomas watched as he sat up, and began yanking at the handcuffs.

“LET ME GO!” he yelled, “IF YOU’RE NOT GOING TO KILL ME THEN I’LL DO IT MYSELF. LET ME GO!”

Thomas fumbled in the glove compartment until he found a sedative. He picked up the needle, climbed back into the back compartment, somehow managed to avoid Newt’s flailing limbs to stick the needle in his neck, and inject him. Newt once again fell unconscious.

Thomas climbed back into the front seat, ignoring Lawrence’s glare. They drove for a few more minutes in complete silence, before they came to a stop inside a small, partially destroyed building, at the end of a long road, with WICKED Headquarters at the other end. Lawrence pulled a small, grey chip out of his pockets, and held it out.

“Press this side to call me,” said Lawrence, pointing, “and this side to call Minho and Teresa,” he continued indicating the other side.

Thomas accepted the chip, and glanced back at Newt. “Look after Newt, Lawrence. If anything happens to him there will be nothing,  _ nothing _ , that will stop me from killing you.”

Without giving him a chance to respond, Thomas opened the door, and stepped onto the street.

There were no Cranks in sight. Thomas tucked the chip into a secret pocket in his jeans, concealed his bombs in a pocket of his jacket, and headed towards WICKED.

\---

  
  


He was stopped at the gates by two guards, who seemed to recognise him.

“Come this way, S-thomas,” one said. The other one said into his walkie-talkie: “Janson, Thomas has arrived.”

There was a crackle of static, and then Janson’s voice came through. “Bring him through. We’ll begin surgery right away.”

Thomas repressed a shudder, and followed the guards out of the guardhouse and into the main building, down a few corridors and into a lab with a white bed in the centre of the room.

“Thomas!” said Janson, sitting down, “Take a seat.”

“Tell me what you’re going to do first,” said Thomas.

“You are our Final Candidate. If we study your brain, we will find the cure for the Flare.”

“You can cure people?” Thomas asked, hopefully.

“Yes,” Janson confirmed.

“But I’ll die?” he asked. Janson nodded. “I want a moment alone, please. Before you do it.”

Janson nodded, and all the lab personnel left.

“You have five minutes,” he said, before closing the door with a snap.

  
  


Thomas flopped onto the bed, and pulled out his communicator chip. He pressed in the side to contact Minho, and waited until his voice came through.

“Hey Thomas,” said Minho, “What’s up?”

Thomas took a deep breath. “They need my brain to find the cure. And once they’ve done that, I need you guys to find Newt, and make sure he gets it.”

“No!” yelled Teresa.

“What is it?” Thomas asked, confused.

“They’ve got a bunch of immunes down here in a new maze. They’re running the test again. They don’t have enough information. Don’t let them do the surgery, Thomas. We need you,” Teresa explained.

“What do I do, then?” Thomas wondered.

“Stall. Distract them. Find out what you can. I’ll try and find you. With my memories back I-I think I know which lab you’ll be in. Minho and the others can get the other immunes out. Sound good?” said Teresa.

“Yep. See you soon,” said Thomas, releasing the chip and popping it back in his pocket. “Janson!” he called, “I want to talk to you.”

Janson came back in. “Are you ready for the surgery, Thomas?”

“I want to know what’s going on,” he demanded, “I think you owe me that. Explain everything. How the trials and the variables worked, what you’ll use my brain for, how the cure will work. Tell me everything. I want to know my brain will be of some use.”

Janson nodded. “You see,” he began, “When the Flare broke out, it targeted the brain. Early studies to Cranks showed us which parts of the brain it targeted, the-”

Thomas did his best to tune Janson out, not wanting to hear about what they’d subjected the Cranks to.  _ Hurry up, Teresa,  _ he thought,  _ before I lose control and murder Janson. _


	2. Chapter 2

Teresa leaned down the shaft of the maze lift, and carefully put her wrist through the tiny gap in the sensors. One centimetre out, and they’d kill her.

She carefully opened a small door on the side, and gingerly pressed several buttons inside.

“What the hell are you doing, Teresa?” Minho asked, “We’re going out through the Griever Hole.”

“You guys go that way. This way’s quicker for me. I helped build the maze. I would know. So go! Run!” she responded.

Minho glanced back at her one last time, before turning around and running off with the others.

Now that she’d disabled the sensors, Teresa pressed a few more buttons, and a hatch opened up about ten metres below the ground. She smiled. She swung fully into the shaft, holding onto the ground by her hands, feet dangling in the air. She took a deep breath, and let go.

Teresa hit the ground hard, and although she did her best to roll and lessen the impact, she landed awkwardly on her right wrist, breaking it.

She gasped in pain, tears springing to her eyes.

“Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck,” she whispered, doing her best not to scream.

She got to her feet, hissing, and glanced around. From right at the back of her memory, she vaguely remembered the way to the labs. She wandered down the gleaming white corridors, reading the occasional sign.

The corridors were strangely empty. According to her memories, they used to be filled with people bustling around, going about their business, but she came across no one.

Eventually, she exited the lift building, and took another lift back to the surface, to the main HQ. The courtyard was filled with people, rushing around, distributing weapons. Clutching her wrist, Teresa silently exited the lift atrium, and made her way into a small run-down shack that stuck out like a sore thumb next to the sleek, clean buildings. There was a dirty bedroll on the floor, a few threadbare blankets, a cast-iron cauldron, and a rusty iron box.

Teresa sat down on the bedroll, and opened the box. It contained a small leatherbound notebook, and a short knife. She tucked the knife into her pocket, and then opened the book with her good hand.

The first page read:

_ Dr Marie Ayrton _

_ Studies of the Flare Immunity _

_ In Blood cells of Immunes _

Teresa gasped. “Marie Ayrton!” she whispered, in awe. She quickly put the book in her pocket with the knife, then quietly ripped a strip off one of the blankets, and used it with a smooth piece of wood on the floor to splint her wrist. Wincing, she left the hut, and pressing up against the outside wall, studied her surroundings. 

Soldiers were marching across the courtyard, others were already lined up at the edge. She’d have to make a break for it, and hope she wasn’t spotted.

She ducked out from under the eaves, and darted across the yard, and into another empty-looking building, this one white with a green crescent moon on the side. She could hear shouts outside and knew she’d been spotted. She picked up a nurse’s uniform from a shelf, and ran back out the other side, and straight into the back entrance of the laboratory building.

A pair of guards were standing just inside the door.

“ID, please,” one said, looking bored.

“Oh-um, right,” Teresa stuttered, panicking. She noticed a small white card in the uniform bundle, and handed it over, hoping it wouldn’t come with a photo.

“Helen Herschel?” the guard asked. She nodded.

The second guard gave her a funny look. “You look familiar,” he said, “Do I know you?”

“I, um, have a sister!” said Teresa, voice rising in pitch, “Uh, Stephanie. You might be thinking of her.”

The guard nodded, not looking convinced.

“Go on through,” said the first guard, handing back the ID card. Teresa smiled, and hurried off down the corridor.

  
  


As soon as she was out of sight, she pulled the uniform on, slipped the cap on her head, and ran towards the main lab. No one stopped her.

She ran down several more corridors, dodging the occasional scientist or cleaner, and eventually found herself outside a laboratory with a sign reading:

**PRIMARY LABORATORY**

**FINAL CANDIDATE KILLZONE TESTING**

She’d seen that sign before, many times. She’d performed tests in there, and she’d been tested on. She scanned her card on the door, but it didn’t open. She banged on the tiny window, and Thomas came over, and let her in.

“Took you long enough. What happened to your arm?” he asked, gesturing.

“Broke it. Now let me over to the computer. I want to check some things. How long do we have?” Teresa said.

“Janson’s getting pretty ratty,” Thomas said, smirking, “I’m already ten minutes over my allocated time.”

Teresa nodded, and picked up a discarded data chip from the desk. She plugged it into the biggest computer, selected all the files, and copied them onto the chip.

“That’s going to take forever!” Thomas exclaimed.

“Shush!” snapped Teresa, “I can reroute processing power to speed it up. WICKED put a lot of effort into data transfer speed. Start barricading the door. We’ll leave through the other way, meet up with Minho, find Newt, and sort everything out.”

“Newt’s still got the Flare. If we actually get this data, do you think we can find a cure? Where WICKED couldn’t?” Thomas asked.

Teresa whipped the notebook out of her pocket, then continued rerouting the cpu, ram and disk.io to focus on the files. Thomas began moving furniture over to the door, and he could hear Janson yelling outside.

“This book,” Teresa explained, nodding towards it, “contains the work of Marie Ayrton. She worked for WICKED, but wanted to research a cure a different way, so they chucked her out. She lived in a shack on the grounds for about a week until they killed her. She’s arguably the greatest scientist ever. It’ll help.”

Thomas shoved the last cabinet up against the barricade, and as he did so, a door swung open, revealing a sleek black box, with ‘BLISS’ written on the front.

“Take that,” ordered Teresa, “It’ll slow him down.”

“How’re we going with the data?” asked Thomas.

“Two minutes, max.” Teresa muttered, glancing at her watch. She put the book back in her pocket, and rested her hand on the chip. Thomas climbed onto the top of a lab bench and peeked out the window.

“They’ve got some sort of laser cuttery thing. Barricade won’t be much use. We’ve got to go,” he said.

A hissing noise came through from near the door, and Thomas and Teresa could see an orangish light shining on the glass.

A light on the computer flicked green, and Teresa yanked the chip out.

“Let’s go!” she yelled, and ran out the other door, Thomas following close behind with the Bliss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) too many adverbs I know  
> 2) Marie Ayrton comes from Marie Curie and Hertha Ayrton  
> 3) Teresa is channelling Crowley


	3. Chapter 3

Thomas and Teresa ran back the way she’d came, across the courtyard, and along the fenceline, trying to find an exit.

“THE FINAL CANDIDATE HAS ESCAPED TO THE GROUNDS. BRING HIM BACK TO THE PRIMARY LABORATORY UNHARMED,” came Janson’s voice through speakers.

Soldiers rushed out from seemingly nowhere, and they increased their pace.

“There they are!” one soldier yelled, pointing.

Gunshots rang out, and they seemed to be mostly aimed at her. She did her best to duck them, but one grazed her good arm, causing her to screech in pain, and a second one hit her in the left ankle. She collapsed to the ground, screaming and crying. Thomas turned, and picked her up, slinging her left arm over his shoulder.

“We’ve just got to make it to that building,” he said, pointing to a hut over a hundred metres away, “Then we can get out, Lawrence can drive us off. He’s got Newt.”

Teresa did her best to hobble along, sobbing as pain rushed into her foot with every step.

The guards were 400 metres away, and gaining on them.

“My communicator chip’s in my back pocket. Can you get it out?” Thomas asked, looking worriedly at the splint on her free hand.

Teresa fumbled around and drew the chip out, and held down the side to contact Lawrence.

“Lawrence!” Thomas said, gasping for breath, “come pick me and Teresa up from the gate you dropped me off at. Come right up close. She’s injured. And we may be able to cure the Flare.”

“NO YOU BLOODY CAN’T! JUST KILL ME NOW!” Newt yelled through the chip.

“Shut up,” said Lawrence, and Newt fell silent, “I’m heading over now.”

“Thanks,” said Thomas, and Lawrence grunted in response.

Teresa replaced the chip, and glanced back at the soldiers. They were only 200 metres away now.

“Hurry up!” Thomas yelled.

They stumbled the last few metres into the hut, and ran straight into a group of four guards.

“It’s the Final Candidate!” one called, and immediately they lunged for Thomas and Teresa. Teresa fell back, limbs splayed, and landed hard on the ground with a shriek. The guards pointed their guns at her.

“Come with us, or we’ll shoot her,” one said. Thomas backed up slowly. “I mean it,” he continued, waggling his gun.”

Thomas took a chance and smacked the gun across the room, and Teresa rolled to the side as the guns fired. They missed her by a hair. Thomas punched the first guard in the temple, and he collapsed, unconscious. A second guard ran at Teresa, pulled her up, and held a knife to her throat.

All the blood drained from Thomas’ face.

“Don’t touch her!” he shouted.

Teresa locked eyes with him, and he nodded. She silently mouthed one...two...three.

On three, she shoved backwards, away from the knife, ducked down, and hit the guard over the face with her splint. Blood spurted across the room, and he couldn’t tell whose it was.

Two guards down.

The third ran straight for Teresa, and the fourth for him. The guard grabbed him by the throat and slammed him against the wall, cutting off his oxygen. He clawed uselessly at his hands. Black spots were appearing in his vision.

And suddenly, Teresa hit the guard over the head with the discarded gun. The last soldier was already unconscious, having suffered the same fate.

“Bloody hell, Teresa,” Thomas whispered, “That was fucking epic.”

“Time and a place, Thomas,” she reminded him, but she was smiling.

The smile faded as she let out a groan and collapsed to the floor. Thomas picked her up, carrying her bridal-style out the door, just as the soldiers finally burst in. Lawrence was waiting a few paces away with the back of the van open. The moment he’d set Teresa down on the floor and shut the door, Lawrence sped off.

“What happened?” Lawrence asked.

“Stole a ton of their data. Picked up a notebook Teresa thinks could contain the cure. Got some Bliss, too. And she got shot, and broke her wrist. So please hurry up and get us some medical help,” Thomas quickly explained.

“Newt’s on the last of the sedative,” Lawrence said. Thomas nodded, even though he wouldn’t see. He turned back to Teresa. She’d passed out, and her skin was a sickly grey colour. She moaned slightly, and he picked up the cleanest rags off the floor, and tied them over her bullet wound, trying to stop the bleeding.

* * *

They stopped inside a huge warehouse. Lawrence opened the door.

“I’ll go get a couple of stretchers,” he said.

Thomas waited for a few minutes, and eventually Minho ran into view, followed by Frypan, Gally, [Gladers], and Sonya.

Minho came straight over, and checked on Newt, and Sonya followed directly behind him, crouching over him and feeling his pulse.

The others pulled up two vans nearby, and began stocking them with sacks and crates.

"What are you doing?" Thomas asked.

"The Right Arm don't really seem all that interested in a cure. They want WICKED gone so they can take control. Cure only a select few. Make a shit-ton of money. So we're getting out. Going to one of WICKED's abandoned outposts. Work from there," Minho explained. 

The vans finished loading, and the Gladers & co climbed in, started the engines and drove off. Minho hauled a large bundle of bedding into the back of the van they were in, and then a grey medical kit. He clambered into the front, and followed after the other vans.


	4. Chapter 4

“Teresa needs proper medical attention,” said Thomas, “she’s gonna die, Minho. And I can’t have that. She’s more than made up for her betrayal.”

“I was a med-jack, back in the maze,” Sonya said, “So I’ll sort her out. You’ll have to help me though.”

Thomas nodded. Sonya opened the medical bag, and pulled out a long pair of tweezers. 

“Get the alcohol out and pour it on her wounds,” Sonya instructed, and Thomas did so. “Good,” she said.

She looked at Teresa’s ankle, assessing the wound, then carefully pulled the bullet out. Teresa screamed in agony, tears running down her face, and blood began to flow once again from the wound. Sonya bandaged the wound up, and then cleaned and bandaged the graze on her arm. 

Turning her attention to the broken wrist, Sonya resplinted it, and then turned to Thomas.

“I can fix her wrist properly when we get to the outpost. And we need to keep her wounds clean. But she’ll be fine,” she said, then moved over to Newt.

Thomas handed her the box of bliss.

“Will this help?” he asked.

“A little. He’s so far Gone it won’t make much difference.”

She opened the box, and withdrew a syringe. She injected it into Newt’s forearm, and then slid the handcuffs up his arm a little way.

The skin was bright red and chafed, so she gently wrapped a bandage around each of them.

  
  


Thomas watched her work in silence. While she’d been gentle with Teresa, she’d still been quite professional. The way she cared for Newt, it was almost like love. Had they had a thing together?

He noticed that her shoulders were shaking slightly, and she was quietly sobbing.

“Hey,” he said, resting a hand on her shoulder, “What’s up? Do you know him?”

Sonya turned to face him fully. “I think so,” she whispered, “It’s been years now. But I got my memories back, and I remember that I had a brother. A brother with the same blond hair that he does, same eyes, same build. And he’s not an Immune.”

“You think Newt’s your brother?” Thomas asked.

Sonya nodded. “It’s been years, and you guys refused to get your memories back, so he wouldn’t remember me. But we had some great times together, before we were taken. I like to think that if he remembered, he would have found me by now. And it’s not you or Minho. And I won’t believe he’s dead.”

“Teresa downloaded all the data from WICKED. We might be able to find out,” Thomas suggested. Sonya smiled, and turned back to Newt, and began washing his arms and face. Thomas thought he saw a glimmer of hope shining in her eyes.

* * *

Four hours later, Minho stopped the van. Sonya, Thomas and Minho climbed out of the van. They were parked under a carport next to a small wooden shack.

“Right!” Minho yelled, “Listen up!” The Gladers got out of their vans, and gathered around him. “It is now 6pm. We leave at 6am. We’ll take 2-hour guard shifts all night, in pairs or trios. Newt stays locked in the van. Someone must be watching him through the window at all times. Try and keep it down, we don’t want to get found.”

The Gladers all nodded in agreement, and began to unload the vans to cook dinner. Gally and Aris plonked down in the van to watch Newt, while Minho and Thomas helped Teresa hobble inside the shack, and lie down on the lone bed in the corner.

Frypan started on dinner, and Sonya checked Teresa’s wounds, cleaned them again, and then looked over her shoulder as Teresa read the notebook.

_ PRELIMINARY KNOWLEDGE _

  * _Spreads fast_


  * Targets brain ‘killzone’


  * Those infected lose their minds


  * Can be slowed down but not stopped



_ No obvious links between Immunes concerning genetics. _

_ Possible that the Flare is a degenerative disease. Could also manipulate/corrupt memories for Crank to remember things vastly differently to actual events, Might be similar to dementia. Could also cause major hormone fluctuations. Further research required. _

_ TEST ONE _

_ Does the Flare cause hormone fluctuations? _

_ * use brain implant on Cranks and Controls to measure different hormone levels _

_ RESULTS SUMMARY _

_ * heightened levels of cortisol, oxytocin, vasopressin, corticotropin, corticosteroids in Cranks compared to Controls _

_ |Does this get us anywhere? Cause or effect? _

There was another entry, dated a week later.

_ A drug known as ‘The Bliss’ has been developed. It suppresses these hormones, and calms the mind. The processes of the body, and therefore the progression of the disease slows. _

_ It is not enough. We need a cure. _

“I’ll cure him,” Teresa said, certainly, “I swear it, Sonya.”

“I appreciate it, but no hard feelings if you fail where the world’s best scientists failed,” Sonya said.

“Thanks for that vote of confidence.”

Sonya snorted. Frypan passed them each a bowl with a suspicious-looking stew, which tasted surprisingly good.

After dinner, Thomas and Minho took the first watch, and Sonya lay on the floor, until Teresa persuaded her into taking in half the bed. She smiled gratefully, and soon fell asleep.

Harriet woke her at midnight, and the two of them sat by the campfire, listening quietly for any sign of WICKED, occasionally talking. Sonya watched Newt through the window, admiring the way the moonlight shining on him made his hair gleam.

“Didn’t Frypan get his memories back?” Harriet asked suddenly.

“Yeah. Why?” Sonya replied.

“He might remember Newt,” Harriet explained.

Sonya sighed. “That won’t get us anywhere. If I don’t remember us being together after we were taken, then no one would have known we were siblings.”

“I guess you’re right,” Harriet conceded.

_ wokka-wokka-wokka-wokka-wokka _

“Shit,” Harriet muttered, “WICKED helicopters.” 

She quickly picked up handfuls of sandy dirt from the floor, and covered the fire, extinguishing it. Sonya switched off the lanterns.

“Do we bother waking the others?” Harriet wondered.

“They’ll make noise,” Sonya pointed out, “If we stay quiet they might fly over us.”

  
  


Of course, Newt chose that moment to play up and try to escape. He was banging on the door, making quite a racket.

“I’m gonna go re-administer the Bliss. They’re gonna hear him otherwise,” Sonya whispered.

“There’s a gap between the carport and the house! They’ll see you!” Harriet reminded her.

“We don’t have a choice,” Sonya hissed, “Either they see me, or hear him.”

She didn’t give Harriet a chance to argue any more, and picked up a syringe. She ducked outside and pressed herself against the wall, under the eaves.

She could hear the helicopters flying overhead, but she took a chance and darted across.

A circle of light appeared where she’d been moments before, and she glanced up to see the source: a helicopter’s spotlight. Sonya dropped to the ground and rolled under the van, and prayed that they’d put the movement down to an animal.

The light swept the surrounding area, and Sonya lay still, barely daring to breathe, until the helicopters finally flew off. She climbed out from under the van and opened the door. Newt was slumped against one wall, a mess. He was battered and bruised, and the bandages on his wrists were soaked in blood.

Sonya sat down next to him, and gently injected him with more Bliss. His head lolled back, and he fell into her lap.

“Careful!” she exclaimed, but didn’t move him. He opened his eyes, and smiled. She smiled back, and he started giggling hysterically.

“It’s all fuzzy!” he said, “And wavy! And ooh! I’m gonna steal your nose!” He reached up, and pretended to steal her nose the way you do with a baby, sticking the thumb between the index and middle finger.

“You feeling better?” she asked.

“Very good. Dreamy-weamy. Fizzy-wizzy. Lizzy. Sis-miss. Lizzy,” Newt said dreamily, his words slurring slightly.

“What was that?” Sonya asked, hardly daring to hope that he remembered.

“Lizzy,” Newt murmured, then turned over and fell asleep.

Sonya sat still for several moments, trying to get to grips with what he’d just said. A few grunts from Newt snapped her out of it, and she cleaned his wrists and changed his bandages. Then she remembered Harriet’d probably started worrying about her, so she hurried back to the hut.

Inside, Harriet was talking softly and urgently with Thomas and Minho. She looked up and saw Sonya come in.

“How is he?” Harriet asked.

“He said, ‘Lizzy. Sis-miss. Lizzy,’” Sonya said, “Lizzie’s my old name. I think he might remember me.”

“The Bliss fights the deterioration of the brain, and that includes the corruption of memories. It’s possible the Bliss will awaken some of his memories. Memories they blocked off, rather than wiped,” Teresa explained, sitting up and rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

“I hope you’re right,” said Sonya, feeling hope swell inside her, “What do we do about the helicopters?”

“Two more hours’ rest, then we move out,” Minho decided. They all nodded in agreement, and then lay down and went to sleep.

Sonya slept well for the first time in a while.

Newt remembered her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some of this doesn't quite make sense with The Fever Code but I wrote this before I read it
> 
> just go with it pls


End file.
